trash when I see the folder I made when I was mad at Griffin last year. 'Liars.' I drop here-mail in there. Even if she hasn't lied to me, I bet she would if I gave her the chance.
The second e-mail is from Mrs. Philipoulos.
To: Library Employees
Bcc: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Secret Archives Access
Former Academy library employees,
Upon a recent inspection of the library secret archives, I have discovered two missing volumes in the Mount Olympus records. If you have any knowledge of the theft or whereabouts for these volumes, please contact me immediately. No punitive action will be taken if the volumes are returned within the week.
Also, please remember that your right to access the secret archives depends on your status as a library employee. If you are no longer working in the library, you should not access the secret archives for ANY reason.
Yours,
Philippa Philipoulos
At least she only blind-copied me. Damian won't know I'm involved. I wouldn't want him to get suspicious and rush home from his honeymoon. The last thing I need is Mom and Damian nosing around in the middle of my trying to find out what happened to Dad.
Mrs. Philipoulos said two volumes are missing. Clearly, one of them is Dad's trial record. I wonder what else was taken. The last e-mail is yet another blocked message.
From: [Blocked]
Subject: [No Subject]
Urian Nacus will not be able to decrypt my identity before our meeting.
Do not be late.
Just for ducks, I click print. When the blank page spits out, I slide it back into the paper tray. I'm so not surprised. If e-mails one and two wouldn't print, it would be some kind uf divine intervention if the third did.
Closing down my computer, I decide I need to get out of my room, out of this house. I need the clarity of thought that only running can bring. I grab the zip-up sweatshirt off the back of my chair. As I hurry through the living room, I try not to make eye contact. Xander is back and I'm not up for conversation. I can see him and Stella sitting on the couch-Stella flirtatiously turned to face him with one foot tucked up underneath her and Xander nonflirtatiously focused on whatever he's writing in a spiral notebook.
Maybe I can get to the front door-
'Phoebe,' Stella calls out before I can escape, 'are you okay'?'
'Fine,' I say, hoping she'll take the hint.
Of course subtlety is not her strong suit.
'Griffin looked pretty upset when he left.' She climbs off the couch and approaches me. Dropping her voice to a whisper, she asks. 'Is everything all right?'
'Just peachy,' I say, and I can't quite keep the emotion out of my voice.
But instead of pouncing on my trauma-I can just see her gloating to Adara over my continued torment-she puts her hand on my shoulder and says, 'I'm sorry.' And then shocks the Hades out of me by adding, 'If you ever need someone to talk to…'
'Sure.' I try to smile-and hide my shock at her apparently sincere offer. 'Thanks.'
She smiles sympathetically.
'I'm going for a run,' I say, uncomfortable with this friendly Stella. I jerk my hand back over my shoulder. 'I need some fresh air.'
Xander looks up at me, his lavender eyes wide and intent. He looks like he might say something, but I turn and head outside before he gets the chance.
I take the front steps two at a time. Those same steps where Griffin almost first kissed me. Right after I found out he was a duty-bound descendant of Hercules. Right before I found out I was part of some elaborate bet between him and Stella and Adara. I should have listened to my gut the first time. Then my heart wouldn't be shattering right now.
Maybe I shouldn't be surprised at our rocky end. We had a pretty rocky beginning, even if the time between was smooth and wonderful.
'Phoebe,' Xander calls out. Then, when I don't stop, he shouts. 'Castro!'
I. Have. Had. Enough.
Whipping around and jogging back to the porch, I snap, 'What?'
'I'm sorry,' he says-like he knows an apology is the only thing that can undermine my fury. 'I shouldn't have stormed out like that earlier. You're going through a tough enough time without my making things worse.'
'Fine,' I say. 'Apology accepted. Can I go now?'
Before he can answer, I turn and jog down the path leading to the dock-to the beach. To my left, the front lawn of the Academystretches out into a rolling green hill that leads down to the cove. Ahead, I can see the Aegean, inky black and rippling in reflected moonlight from the starry sky. It's so peaceful and calming and completely at odds with the emotions running through me.
How can Griffin make me feel so good and so rotten at the same time? Why did he go back to Adara? Does she have something I don't-other than bleached blonde hair and a cheerleader uniform?
Does she, like Mitzi Bosch,
When he said he didn't know why he'd stayed with her so long, I'd believed him. When he told me about his mom's oracle reading, I'd really thought we'd be together forever. I'd thought he was my
Had I really been such a fool?
With only a hint of a moon out tonight, I can barely see the path down to the dock. It's only because I've climbed this path dozens of times that I make it to the bottom without stumbling. Usually I take a right, to the long stretch of perfect white beach that just screams for a run. But tonight the tide is really low and there's a thin sliver of shore leading off to the left.
Without another thought, I head left. The strip of sand-still wet from a higher tide and solid beneath my Nikes-winds beneath the cliffs and the village perched overhead. It's quiet and secluded-the beach isn't usually bustling with activity after dark unless it's bonfire night-and it's a relief to know I won't be running into anyone. Company is the last thing I'm looking for. As I hurdle a low rock outcropping, I think about my promise to Nola. She always gives people second chances. And third and fourth and fifth chances. Soit's not exactly a surprise that she wants me to give Griff a second opportunity to explain. I don't want to-I feel like I've already given him tons of opportunities-but I can't break a promise. Not to Nola.
I'm just wondering how to go about giving Griffin another chance to explain-do I go after him, or do I wait until he comes to me?-when I feel water slosh over my Nikes.
'What the-?'
